Saturday, 5 December 2009

and then until

in autumn, everything darkens,

cuts away from bark and drops


in winter, ice

like glass holds back goods

and then

in spring, to step away and

keep us warm by poking green, busy bee,

and then

in summer, touch

and step through glass and action, cut

to warm flowers and holding hands


Thursday, 3 December 2009

No doubt

how I can be amazed by family

and how we grow apart day by day.

But now we’re together like a pause between breaths, like branches

touching in a breeze and thrilled to meet,

but then again reaching away, longing

for light. And how I carry an old fruitless cargo;

a seed of me wrapped in bark, called ‘experience’.

How can I affirm to know the seed

of anything? Because no rock is ultimately

stable, no term the right term. But words

and ego bubble out of me, congealed,

not nascent, and un-alive; having no

claim to light this moment by living soft

like butter; not hard like a knife.

How metaphors fail! No words can catch

a fire, hiss of inner anger hours

after my ‘teaching’ occurs. Insensitive,

ignoring a poetry of parenthood,

like trust looking out through running windows

onto self. And now my anger burns

and how a real connection quells, no doubt.

Wednesday, 2 December 2009


Massive dark and light,

magical rings intertwine;

that is why I write.

Tuesday, 1 December 2009

Down's morning

His first connection to morning light is all around.

And he sits amongst fluffy pillows, talks

loudly to his knitted toys and friends,

trousers, socks, jumpers before father

mother, brother, or magical other enter

and yet another perfect day begins. No need

to read a newspaper, wear a diamond ring.

His mission now? Look up and sparkle, smile.

Sunday, 29 November 2009

Leaves and trees

The leaves are shuttling down today

like plunging into bed at night:

though most are dropping, some hold up

a celebration of their fall.

Is it that trees are facing death

by dropping limbs? No. They re-birth

within a circle’s trick of growth

expanding out a ring each year.

But now a wooden tree stands forth

against a blue November sky.

Time to grow, remember why:

death is birth, is death, is birth.